


empty

by DeadlyHuggles



Series: mcyt oneshots (or multishots, i'm bad at being consistent) [5]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Gen, fundy and i are both having a not so good time, vent fic, wilbur's dead and fundy's mourning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:35:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28664817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadlyHuggles/pseuds/DeadlyHuggles
Summary: Fundy felt empty. Cold and empty.He ran a clawed hand though his ginger locks and sighed.His dad was dead. The great Wilbur Soot was dead, ran through with a sword by his own father.a vent fic
Series: mcyt oneshots (or multishots, i'm bad at being consistent) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044822
Kudos: 9





	empty

**Author's Note:**

> sorry i didn't post anything last week. i've been feeling pretty shit and it all kinda caught up with me last week, so i decided not to force myself to post. Then this week on thursday my favorite teacher died. so.... vent fic.
> 
> I didn't even run this by my beta. just kinda wrote it and posted it.

Fundy felt empty. Cold and empty.

  


He ran a clawed hand though his ginger locks and sighed.

  


His dad was dead. The great Wilbur Soot was dead, ran through with a sword by his own father.

  


He should feel sad, he knew he should. Maybe Wil hadn’t been the greatest of dads, but he was still his dad. He still raised him.

  


He hadn’t seen Wilbur since the festival, and before that not since he was exiled. He couldn’t even remember the last time he and Wilbur had spent time together, just them. 

  


He missed the Wilbur he knew as a child, the one who held him in his arms and sang him lullabies when he was feeling sad.

  


He stared down at the communicator in his hands. He couldn’t process his emotions. It felt like there was a hole in his chest, like his emotions had died with Wilbur.

  


He wanted to cry. Maybe if he cried his emotions would show up and he could mourn like the others. No tears came. Not even a dry sob would rip through his chest.

  


He forced himself off of his bed where he had sat down. He had things to do. Things that probably shouldn’t wait. Things like arranging his father’s funeral and visiting Niki and checking in on their child president.

  


(And wasn’t that weird? How Tubbo, a child, who wasn’t even 17 yet, had been chosen as president, over every adult there? How he had been put into this position of extreme stress and power and just been expected to handle it? And how that wasn’t even the most fucked up part of the day?)

  


Fundy paused as he saw Wilbur’s guitar sitting in the corner. It was one of the only things he had left of Wilbur. That and a couple of his jackets that Fundy had stolen before the election. They had stopped smelling like him weeks ago, but he kept them around as a memento.

  


He reached for the guitar, hesitating a moment before grabbing it and sitting down with it. He sat like Wilbur had taught him to and strummed over the strings. He winced at the cacophony that was the long untuned strings. He reached up and tried to remember how Wilbur had taught him to tune it, slowly coaxing all five strings back into tune. He strummed the strings again and felt a small piece of the emptiness in his chest filling up.

  


He began playing one of Wilbur’s songs, some stupid ditty about a women named Karen stealing kids. He never understood Wilbur’s songs, but mean didn’t matter much at the moment. All that mattered was the familiar music floating through the air, the tears streaming down his face, and the phantom sensation of hands on his, reminding him how each chord went.

  


He continued to play for hours, playing every song his father ever taught him. Over time his emotions returned, and he sobbed, mourning Wilbur alone in his house.

  


When he was done, his emotions disappeared again but Fundy found he didn’t mind as much anymore. Mourning was a process wasn’t it? Maybe this was just the first step.


End file.
